


the highest fall you’ll ever grace

by kasuchans



Series: hope is the thing with feathers [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuchans/pseuds/kasuchans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He can feel his wings flaring outward, sensing how Riza takes a step back to avoid his splayed pinions, the other wing sweeping a pile of books and papers off the nearby table. It feels like anger, coiling and releasing, rage and despair and the memories of his mother’s down fluttering to the floor, and he has to close his eyes, shaking his head to clear it. <i>He is not Edward, he would never cross that line, Edward is not the only child to have ever felt alone</i>—"</p><p>Roy Mustang goes to find the Elric brothers after their disastrous attempt at human transmutation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the highest fall you’ll ever grace

The first thing Roy notices, of course, are the ragged scars along the kid’s back. Angry and red, with tufts of down still scattered around the edges. Seeing the exposed shoulders stirs up revulsion in his stomach, and his fingers twitch. He itches to snap, set the air alight, burn away the layers of sadness and sacrilege that cloak the room like a shroud. Behind him, he hears the rustling of Riza’s pinions against her uniform as she approaches.

“He’s so young,” she says, echoing his thoughts. Still, to himself he adds _but old enough to attempt human transmutation, apparently._ He knows their backstory, and has no shortage of sympathy—two innocent children, abandoned by their father and orphaned by their mother, desperate for love and ignorant of consequences—but the taboo is implanted so deep into his fiber as an alchemist, singing along his feathers and in circles on the backs of his hands, he can’t help but be disgusted by them. By him, the boy of no more than twelve at most, sitting before them with air of having given up on life itself.

But this is who he’s been sent to retrieve, and the military is no stranger to those who don’t fit the mold—or for that matter, he thinks, glancing back at Riza and the gold that frames her face, those who’ve broken the mold—so he suppresses the bile rising in his throat and strides purposefully to stand in front of the boy.

“Edward Elric.” He glances up at that, Roy’s dark eyes meeting Edward’s empty gold, before turning his gaze down again.

“You’re with the military.” He says it in the same way someone else would say “you have slate wings” or “you have black eyes.” Flatly, with just a hint of surprise.

At this, Roy’s tenuous grip on his restraint snaps, and he grabs at the front of Edward’s shirt, pulling him out of his chair. He can feel his wings flaring outward, sensing how Riza takes a step back to avoid his splayed pinions, the other wing sweeping a pile of books and papers off the nearby table. It feels like anger, coiling and releasing, rage and despair and the memories of his mother’s down fluttering to the floor, and he has to close his eyes, shaking his head to clear it. _He is not Edward, he would never cross that line, Edward is not the only child to have ever felt alone_ —

“Colonel!” Riza’s voice is a knife through the blur of images racing behind his eyelids, and he freezes, the room empty save for the heavy sound of his breath and the quiet re-furling of his wings. “Colonel, he’s a child!” she yells, emphasizing the last word. Roy’s fingers uncurl, one by one, from Edward’s shirt, and he falls to the floor, his arms splayed in front of his face like a sickly, pale-white shield. Roy jumps back, but Edward reaches out a hand and grabs hold of his wrist.

“Sir, we—we didn’t mean to—“

Whatever the kid has to say is cut off by the sudden pressure on Roy’s back, squarely between his scapula but strictly evading his downy junctions. “It was an accident!” he hears, in a strangely metallic voice. “We’re sorry... We’re sorry...”

As he turns, his eyes come to rest on a suit of armor behind him, its hand outstretched. It’s voice is shaky, and sounds suspiciously like... “Alphone?” _If Edward lost his wings, then did Alphonse_... It doesn’t take more than a cursory glance over the armor’s joints and helmet to clarify what he was thinking.

“Sir.” Edward’s voice breaks through his musings, reminding him of the issue at hand. “Please... he’s still my brother, and—and we just wanted our mom back... _please help us!_ ” It’s the way Edward’s voice cracks on the last few words, his remaining wing straining against its bandages as his fingers tighten around Roy’s wrist. “ _We don’t know—we don’t know what to do!_ ”

*

“So what you’re saying, is if I become the military’s bitch, I’ll get access to their fancy library and be able to look into special alchemical research records?” Ed’s mood is in stark contrast to his attitude when Roy had walked in. It’s hard to reconcile this brash, intelligent young man with the empty shell of a boy with whom he had come face-to-face just a few minutes ago. But the attitude...

“Yes, Ed. In exchange for _your service to your king and country_ , you’re allowed to access our _esteemed collection of private research materials_.” Seriously, this kid. It’s all Roy can do to grit his teeth and keep himself from smacking him over the head. When the military told him of the Elric brothers, a pair of powerful alchemists who had attempted human transmutation, and requested he go investigate, he hadn’t expected them to be barely more than boys, holding themselves together through spit and spirit and, in Al’s case at least, very literally blood. He hadn’t expected them to scarcely be human, one’s body grounded in a suit of armor and the other half leather and steel. He hadn’t expected them to be so damn _helpless_.

Ed and Al share a look, and even though he can’t read the armor’s face he can tell they’re mulling it over. Something about the tight set of Ed’s mouth, the way his fingers are twined in themselves and tugging at the edges of his bandages, tells Roy that there’s something more that needs to be said. But not like this.

“Al,” he says, taking great care to look at the armor’s eyes rather than averting his gaze. “Would you mind leaving your brother and I for a brief moment?”

Al inclines his head, leaving the room. From the sound of the receding clanks, it doesn’t sound like he’s waiting just outside the door, either.

As soon as he’s left, Ed’s face drops, his fingers untwisting from the gauze and resting limp in his lap. _Ah_ , Roy thinks to himself, _so he was faking it_. “Now then, Ed. Let’s discuss this.”

Though his body is screaming out in resignation, Ed’s jaw is still set so firm, Roy has half a mind to try and transmute it. “Alchemy brought me into this mess. It dragged my brother with it. I’m not about to use it for the military’s dirty work, just so my brother and I _might_ find something even a little bit useful.”

Roy sighs. This kid is too stubborn for his own good. “Look,” he says. “I’m not forcing you. I’m merely offering you the possibility.” When he earns nothing but a defiant glare in return, he continues. “Are you going to stay in that chair, wallowing in self-pity? Or will you stand up and seize this chance the military is offering you?”

“I don’t deserve thi—“

“Yes, you do!” His voice breaks into a shout on that last word, and he catches his wings from flaring out and knocking the table over. “If you made this happen, then it’s your obligation to fix it, Edward Elric. If you believe there’s at all a possibility of getting your bodies back, you need to find it. Keep moving, whatever it takes. Even if the way ahead of you is as thick as mud.”

With that, he stands, tucking his wings back in their notches and heading for the door. “And Ed.”

“Yes?” If Roy thinks about it, he can hear a hint of hope in that syllable. Maybe some determination, as well.

“Al doesn’t blame you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bastille's "Icarus."
> 
> Roy's wings: [purple heron](http://focusingonwildlife.com/news/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Purple-Heron-ad-spring_7698.jpg)
> 
> Riza's wings: [blue-and-yellow macaw](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/cb/4c/8e/cb4c8ed7ca7bc5df6e421b960e9d039e.jpg)
> 
> I'm a slow writer but things get written I swear :) follow me on [tumblr](http://skywalker-anakin.com/)!


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